What Lies Beneath: A drabble series
by DistrictsandWizards
Summary: "It was sort of a playful joke around the Prison. About how if Carl was seen, Patrick wouldn't be too far behind. They had become a package deal." Several drabble stories regarding the relationship between Carl and Patrick. (In other words I mourn Patrick's loss by making cutesy fanfiction.) Carl GrimesxPatrick (Previously known as Teach Me How: A drabble series)
1. Brave

I don't own the Walking Dead

Hey there, thanks for clicking on the story!

I needed to write something cute ASAP after the last episode. CARL WAS MAKING PATRICK A GRAVE MARKER. Pardon my caps, I just couldn't handle these feelings! That episode was so sad omg. Anyways, getting off subject.

Most chapters probably won't be tied in with others unless I say otherwise.

Enjoy!

* * *

Carl slammed the fence gate behind himself, panting as he looked around the small backyard they had wound up in. His companion bent down, putting his hands on his knees as he breathed heavily, also winded.

Carl leaned back against the fence gate, the bloody sharpened crowbar that served as his weapon fell to the cement sidewalk with a clatter.

"Well." Patrick began, after catching his breath enough to speak. "That went well." Carl snorted in lieu of a reply and watched as his boyfriend walked across the small yard and leaned against a tree, the only piece of foliage in the small space that seemed to be surviving the fight against upcoming winter.

Carl had begged and begged his father to let Patrick and him go on a supply run with the rest of the group. Getting Sasha to allow it had been slightly easier, but his father was another story. But finally he had relented.

So they had set off for an empty town Daryl had found another time, accompanying Daryl himself, along with Glenn, Tyresse, Sasha, and a few other men. The number of Walkers had seemingly increased since the last time Daryl had stumbled upon the place, and they had somehow been split up from the rest of the group during the fight.

There was no need to panic, though. Before coming they had agreed on a Rendezvous spot; a location where they would meet up in the event of something like that happening.

Carl pushed himself off the fence, instead crossing the yard to stand at the tree Patrick had slid down, and was now resting on the grass at the trunk. He was staring at his hands, lightly splattered with blood from the scuffle, and Carl realized with a slight jolt, that this had been his first time on the field killing a Walker.

Three Walkers had charged after them, and Carl had stabbed the first head on with his crowbar, whacking the second and once he had it pinned to the ground with his foot he ran it through the head.

The third had stumbled forward, advancing on the older teen, and Carl wrenched the crowbar out of the Walker's oozing skull and swiveled around, prepared to stop it at all costs when the Walker suddenly screeched to a halt, the blade of a machete plunged through its decaying cranium.

With a gurgle of finality the Walker had crashed to the ground, unmoving, revealing a shell-shocked Patrick, who stared down at it owlishly.

Being on the field was so very much different than fence duty. On fence duty, the chain-linked wall that incased the Prison ensured their safety. There wasn't much a Walker could do except snarl and bang on it.

On the outside, Walkers could be unpredictable, they could charge, bite, and scratch. Outside it was act, or get torn to pieces.

Carl had been so giddy to be able to explore with Patrick that he had forgotten for a moment, that in doing so he was putting the one he loved in severe danger.

He plopped down next to Patrick and slowly took the blade handle from his grasp, replacing it with his own hand as he set the weapon beside them in the grass. He could feel the tremor in his partner's hand but didn't comment on it.

"This was a bad idea, I'm sorry." He mumbled. Patrick tilted his head so it rested on Carl's shoulder.

"No, I wanted to come, really. It'll just take some getting used to." He said, giving his hand a small squeeze.

"I just wish I could be as brave as you, Carl." Patrick admitted with a sigh, after a brief pause. Carl turned his head to look at him incredulously.

"Are you kidding? You were brave! The way you took down that Walker was awesome, seriously." He nudged Patrick with his shoulder, smiling. Patrick smiled faintly in return, slipping his glasses off his face so he could clean away a few specks of blood that was sticking to the lenses.

A small noise made them both stop what they were doing and Carl, ever vigilant, grabbed his weapon and climbed to his feet slowly. For a while nothing else happened, and Carl started to think that maybe he had imagined the noise when it sounded again, closer and more clearer.

"_Carl! Patrick!" _

"Glenn." Patrick said, once he recognized the whisper.

"_Glenn. We're here." _Carl whispered back, and a few minutes later Glenn appeared at the backyard gate, looking relieved.

"There you guys are! Are you okay?" Carl nodded and helped his boyfriend to his feet, grabbing his weapon as well. They followed him around to the front of the house, where the rest of the group was standing, alert and ready to go if needed.

"What happened to the rendezvous spot?" Carl asked after he came to a stop. Daryl smirked.

"We were all there but Glenn got worried after you two didn't show up after a while." He turned to address Glenn.

"See? I told you they was alright, probably jus' snuck off to make out or somethin'."

Tyreese chuckled and Sasha smacked his arm, barely concealing a grin of her own. Carl sent Daryl a fake menacing glare and Patrick looked away with a smile.

"Alright, so maybe I over reacted a bit, can we go now?" Glenn admitted, crossing his arms. Daryl simply chuckled.

"Yeah, we should get this done before night fall."

They resumed walking, weapons at the ready and ever so cautions. Patrick's empty hand found Carl's again as they walked. Carl squeezed his hand lightly in return, lulled into a sense of security with the warmth of his palm. Carl was happy to feel Patrick's grip. Steady and strong unlike before.

It was still a work in progress, getting Patrick used to how they all worked, but he still felt as if they had made an advancement that day.

* * *

I never noticed how much I suck at dialogue until I write groups talking ugh. Also fight scenes, pretty horrible at those. And titles, and endings. Pretty much everything. Sorry about my mediocre writing, this couple deserves so much better. Excuse me while I go crawl under my blankets and have a Supernatural marathon.

Anyways, I hope you liked it! If you've made it this far then thanks for reading!


	2. Cuddling

I don't own the Walking Dead

I would like to thank everyone who is supporting this fic, thank you very much! I would've gotten this chapter out sooner, but life is being really rude and getting in the way.

Also I wrote this chapter while sleep deprived. I nap jerked awake a few times in front of the keyboard. So sorry if there's any mistakes, I'm too tired to proof-read.

Enjoy!

* * *

Carl shuffled down the halls of Cell Block C, grimacing at the pain that shot up his arms as he opened his cell door and pushed the curtain aside.

He had just finished water duty, which consisted of manually pumping water from their water source and into several buckets, which he proceeded to carry back up to the kitchen in several trips. Needless to say his arms hurt like a bitch.

His dad, whom he shared the cell with, wasn't there and Carl figured he was still out and about. He paused when he saw a familiar pair of glasses resting on the table in the corner, and the lump under his bed covers.

With a grin he gently sat down on the edge of the bed and kicked off his shoes, yawning. Once done he slid under the covers and pressed into the presence's warmth and sighed contently. Patrick stirred and scooted close to him as well, slipping his arm around Carl's waist.

There wasn't much room for two on the single bunk bed, forcing them together, but they didn't mind of course.

"You do have a bed of your own you know." Carl mumbled after a pause, and he let his eyes fall close. Not that he was objecting. He loved being able to cuddle with his boyfriend, as cheesy as it sounded. And Patrick's room was all the way in Cell Block D. Carl's was much more convenient to sleep in; closer to the front of the prison.

"Your s' more comfortable." Patrick slurred back.

"Why is that?" Carl asked, cracking open an eye once more. Patrick blinked blearily and smiled himself.

"Cause it has you in it." Carl snorted at that.

"That sounded like a bad pick-up line."

With a laugh Patrick inclined his head forward, to the point where their foreheads were touching.

"If it was, did it work?" Carl chuckled softly and shook his head with a smile.

"Just go back to sleep."

"So it _did _work." Patrick murmured, flashing him a dopey triumphant grin.

"Now you're just being stupid, because you already have me." Carl closed the distance between them by giving his boyfriend a light peck on the lips. He turned so that he was facing the opposite way and stretched, feeling the tension in his arms lesson.

Patrick slung his arm back around him and scooted closer until they were slotted together, almost like two puzzle pieces.

"I do, don't I?" Patrick whispered, once they were settled. Carl hummed slightly in agreement. Patrick moved the hand that was coiled around Carl's hip until he found Carl's, and he threaded them together with a sigh of happiness.

"I love you." It wasn't the first time they had exchanged those words, but Carl still grinned widely every time, his eyes practically sparkling.

Some might say they were too young to know the meaning of love, but they begged to differ. In times like that love was something precious that shouldn't be tossed around easily. Carl squeezed his hand.

"I love you too."

* * *

And thus another chapter is ended with a lack-luster ending, I'm so sorry. I'm horrible at endings, I'm trying to work on it.

Also, sleepy Carl and Patrick is like, the best thing in the world.


	3. Patrick the Hat Stealer

I don't own the Walking Dead

I would like to thank you guys for the reviews, as they mean the world to me. I haven't gotten around to replying to them yet because I'm an asshole, but just know that I squeal and roll around the bed for a solid 30 minutes when I receive one :)

I know this drabble is kinda short but I just thought of the prompt: Patrick and Carl kissing and Patrick stealing his hat and wearing it' And I just had to write it.

Enjoy!

* * *

Patrick hummed a little tune as he chopped up a few tomatoes, Carol working with the main part of dinner behind him. The outside dining area buzzed with light chatter, several people seated at the tables to chat with their friends, or get out of the suns path and into the shade. A few smaller kids ran by every now and again, laughing with glee from their game of tag.

He paused his cutting when he saw Lea, a nice ten year old girl pause to stare at fruit he was chopping, licking her lips. Making sure Carol's back was turned he grinned and held out a sliver he hadn't diced yet, giving her a small wink. She brightened and smiled gratefully before taking the sliver and scampering off with it.

He chuckled and shook his head before continuing his job. Once finished he wiped his hands off on a dish towel and handed Carol the plate.

"Thanks Patrick." She took the plate and started to place it next to the cooker, pausing when something caught her eye. She smirked and nudged him with her shoulder a bit, nodding her head towards something. He followed her line of sight just as several voices rang out in greeting.

"Hey, Carl."

"Hi Carl!"

Carl had just rounded the corner, and he nodded his head in lieu of a reply. He had his signature sheriff hat on, and a hand on his gun holster.

After Rick had let them go on a few supply runs with the others he had thankfully become slightly more lenient, allowing Carl carry his gun again and letting him help around more, like letting him patrol around Cell Block A and B.

Carl caught his eye and smiled as he passed.

"You can go, but I'll probably need you again in a bit." Carol said, her amused voice snapping him from his thoughts.

"Thanks." He broke out into another grin and maneuvered around the tables and chairs, jogging to catch up with his boyfriend. He did so just as Carl turned another corner.

"Looking good, Sheriff." He teased. Carl spun around to face him, rolling his eyes playfully.

"You're just jealous. You just _wish_ you had a hat as cool as mine." Carl shot back in a matter-of-fact tone.

"You've caught me." Patrick stated, just as playful. Carl laughed lightly.

"How is the patrolling going?" Patrick asked, and he shrugged.

"Nothing's happened, it's kind of boring. But in a way I'm happy nothing has." Patrick nodded in understanding. Carl thumbed behind himself.

"I should probably get back to it."

"Yeah, I should get back to Carol." Patrick paused for a second, an idea formulating in his head and he barely concealed a smirk as they leaned in to share a kiss. Mid-kiss Patrick moved his hand to Carl's head, plucking the hat from him and placing it on his own. He pulled back with a grin.

"You were right; and now I _do _have a hat as cool as yours." He cackled, giddy at the look of bewilderment Carl was sporting before he rounded the corner.

* * *

Ugh, I'm no good at dialogue. Someone shoot me please.

Carol ships it. Everyone probably ships it. I bet people at The Prison gossip all the time and they used to gossip about Carl and Patrick before they got together. Yeah, totally my headcannon now.


	4. Anthem of the Angels

I do not own The Walking Dead or the song Anthem of the Angels by Breaking Benjamin. I simply used the song to add to the feels.

I recommend listening to said song while reading this chapter, but that's just me :) (All you have to do is copy and paste the above song and singer into YouTube, top vid should suffice)

You're all gonna hate me :)

Enjoy!

* * *

It had been nearly a week.

Carl sucked in a breath, doubling over to cough repeatedly into a handkerchief.

Nearly a week since Patrick died because of some virus, taking out several others with him. Nearly a week since he was ripped from the world abruptly, never to be seen or heard again.

_His death hadn't really hit Carl yet, not until he had stood over the fresh mound of dirt that served as Patrick's grave. He had placed Patrick's glasses on the wooden cross he had made him. Then it had hit him, like a ton of bricks._

_Patrick was gone. Never again would Carl be able to hold him, kiss him, or confide in him. Patrick had brought a certain lightness and happiness to the Prison, with his polite and happy-go-lucky attitude. Now the light was gone. Carl could never again shuffle to his cell and brighten slightly at the sight of him curled under the covers._

_Patrick was _gone_. _

_In an instant Carl had crumbled, falling to his knees. He shook, and he didn't even realize he was crying until he saw the tears slide down his face and onto the dirt below. And once he started he couldn't stop. He buried his face into his hands and cried, and cried, and cried. Until his throat was raw from his screams._

**"_I keep holding onto you  
but I can't bring you back to life  
sing the anthem of the angels  
and say the last goodbye."_**

He laid back down on his bed in an effort to alleviate his labored breaths to no avail.

It had been two days since Carl started coughing, and was moved from the quarantine zone to the sick ward.

And it had been nearly a day since Daryl and some others went out to retrieve medicine for them all.

Carl's cell was tucked in the back of the first floor. Most of the time he preferred to be alone, left to his thoughts but sometimes he talked to the others, like Sasha, Lizzie and Glenn.

How he had contracted the sickness, he didn't know. Had it been simply from being with Patrick? Because of their shared moments? Touches? Kisses?

And how had Patrick gotten it? Because of their livestock? He didn't have the slightest clue.

He let out a shaky sigh, and instantly cursed himself for doing so, as it started another coughing fit.

It wasn't fair.

Patrick hadn't shown a single symptom of anything that morning, not when Carl had slipped out of bed and kissed his forehead before he headed out after his father. And suddenly he was gone, later that night.

Carl tried to swallow down the lump that had formed in his throat but couldn't, his mouth dry like sandpaper. He reached over for the tea Hershel had been passing out and sipped.

Part of him wished Patrick was still in here with him.

But this was something he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy. He was glad, in a way, that Patrick seemed to slip away quickly, and wasn't suffering like the rest of them.

Part of him wished it was him who was with Patrick.

**"_Days go on forever  
but I have not left your side  
we can chase the dark together  
if you go, then so will I."_**

"Hey Carl." He looked towards the bars of his cell, surprised to see his dad standing there, a bandana tied around his mouth as a precaution. He must have had fought tooth and nail to get in to see him, as Hershel was adamant on keeping healthy people as far away from them as possible. Other than himself.

"Dad." He choked out, clearing his throat. He sat up slowly as to not get dizzy and slumped against the wall.

"You shouldn't be in here."

His father looked pained, and he grasped at the bars as if he wanted nothing more than to tear them from their hinges just to get to him. He probably did.

Carl could only imagine what his own appearance looked like. Dirty, his hair and clothes sticking to his skin due to the constant sweating.

"I don't care."

"You should, for Judith." Rick sighed and looked down, distressed.

"How is she?"

"She's fine; Beth's been takin' good care of her." Carl nodded, relieved.

"Any word on Daryl and the others?" Carl asked, reaching for his tea once more. Rick seemed to frown for a minute, but wiped the look from his face quickly.

"They should be here in a few hours, tops." He assured him.

Though Carl had little hope, as several bad things could always happen. Always did happen. Their car could've broken down, Walkers could've gotten them. There was also the possibility that they would get back but the medicine wouldn't work, thus it all being for nothing as the people would still die.

"Dad." He muttered suddenly, tilting his head to stare at him. He needed to tell him something, before it was too late.

"Yeah?" Rick leaned forwards more, eyebrows nit in concern and concentration.

"When I die-"

"Don't."

His father stopped him before he got the words out, shaking his head fiercely.

"_Don't_."

Carl had little hope left. He could see Hershel and Sasha and sometimes Glenn roll out people on gurneys. It was just to kill them without the rest of them panicking. It was only a matter of time before the others and he would be taken out in the same fashion.

**"_There is nothing left of you  
I can see it in your eyes  
sing the anthem of the angels  
and say the last goodbye."_**

He coughed into his hand, his throat burning and stinging in protest, and he wasn't nearly as alarmed as he should be at the sight of blood in his spit.

"Dad. Please let me finish." His dad let out a shaky sigh and nodded.

"_If_ I die-" He amended. Rick still looked grief stricken at the mere thought but he didn't protest that time.

"Bury me next to Patrick."

* * *

GAH. All these feels! I'm so crap at writing emotional angsty scenes like this; I hope you didn't throw up because of its horrible-ness. Also it was probably really OOC. Sorry bout that.

Also you may have noticed I change the title, simply because I had just thought of the most random one when I first published this story and I kinda hated it. I think this one is better, in my opinion anyways.

Also, so sorry about any and all feels I triggered within you during this drabble, I will totally make it up to you next chapter, I promise!


	5. Winter cuddles

I don't own the Walking Dead.

It's that time of year guise! *Insert a plethora of smiley emojis* Deck the halls with bloody bodies, fa la la la la, la la lala. Etc Etc.

Also, that mid-season finale holy _shit_. Crap hit the fan, and it hit it hard. I think I'm still kind of in a numb, shock-induced coma. Kudos Walking Dead writers, kudos.

Sorry this was so late; other responsibilities just don't want me to have hobbies apparently. Anyways, like I said last chapter, I was sorry for making you guys feel the sad feelings. (Also sorry I laughed evilly as I read your distraught reviews, I mean what.)

So trying to make it up to you this chapter, yeah? Also I was in the mood for some wintery fic.

Enjoy!

* * *

Carl shivered and wrapped his arms around himself in an attempt to stay warm.

Trying to find winter clothes for all of the people at the Prison had proven to be nearly impossible. Most of the outfits they had scrounged around for consisted of a coat, mismatching boots and gloves, a hat and sometimes a scarf. They decided that it was best if only a few people went out in shifts, giving their gear to the next person that would bear the cold. It wasn't a preferred method but it worked.

Carl shifted from foot to foot, sighing as he stared out at the expanse of the prison land and the surrounding forest from the cell tower window. Watch Duty was probably one of the most boring jobs in the prison, and all the while mighty uncomfortable during the winter time. Thankfully though he only had around thirty minutes more until rotation.

He sighed once more and leaned against the window, and dully watched a few Walker straggles bang and shake a section of the fence. There weren't enough to be worried about though.

He paused, arching a brow at the sound of the cell tower door opening and closing. Ben wasn't supposed to be here yet. He turned his head and looked to the ladder opening just in time to see a pink floral printed winter hat poke up from the hole. He snorted as it was followed by a head with thick-rimmed black glasses.

"Nice hat."

Patrick groaned and sent him a flat look.

"I will take these back with me." He warned, and it was only then did Carl notice the two thermoses cradled in the crook of his arm.

"I'll have you know it was the only hat they had left because Daryl and the guys went on a supply run-" Patrick grumbled, setting the canisters gingerly on the ground and hoisting himself up the rest of the way.

"What's that?" Carl interrupted, very used to Patrick's cute ramblings by now and knowing that if he didn't cut him off now he'd keep going. Patrick grinned and picked them up again, thrusting one into Carl's hand.

"Drink it." He stated simply. Carl eyed the mystery canister warily and he scoffed.

"Oh come on, it's _fine_." Carl hesitated a second longer, and then brought the cup to his lips.

Patrick laughed when Carl's eye's widened slightly, undoubtedly tasting the sweet and chocolaty taste of hot cocoa.

"_Oh_."

"I know! Glenn managed to find a few boxes the other day." Patrick said. He downed a sip of his own and sat down on the mattress that was kept in the tower; for the over-night shifts during the summer. He patted the spot beside him and Carl gave the area one more fleeting look before he plopped down with him, nursing the warm beverage in his hands.

"Thank you." He said, and Patrick smiled in response, scooting closer to the younger teen.

They shared a brief moment of silence, only disturbed by the occasional distant groans of Walkers. Would they always have to hear that accursed sound? Patrick's smile faltered for a brief second.

"Do you think things will ever go back to the way they were?" He mumbled quietly. Carl sighed.

"I doubt it." He stated frankly. He looked over to his boyfriend and squeezed his hand.

"Do you?"

"I would like to think so, I hope so. But it probably won't." Patrick said, and frowned as he stared off somewhere. Carl watched him and frowned himself. What he wouldn't give for things to return to normal.

Carl finished the rest of his drink and stood up, holding out a hand.

"My shift should be over now. We should go back inside and warm up."

* * *

Patrick sat down on Carl's bed and toed off his boots, throwing them and the rest of the outer were to the corner. He crawled under the covers and scooted to the wall, allowing Carl to sit and do the same. They snuggled up to each other comfortably and Carl leaned forward to give Patrick a kiss. He slung an arm around Patrick's waist, chuckling slightly when he all but melted into the small kiss.

Patrick shifted and deepened the kiss, maneuvering around until he hovered atop the younger teen.

"Are you okay with this?" He asked after temporarily breaking the kiss. It wasn't like they hadn't laid on top of each other before, but Patrick always felt the need to ask, to make sure he wasn't going too far. The two of them were still very much virgins in ever since of the word, they had only gone as far as making out. Carl nodded, breathless, and grasped the back of Patrick's shirt.

Patrick leaned down to seal his lips onto his once more and pulled the comforter blanket down to the best of his ability, the room suddenly getting a tad hot. He panted and without really thinking about it he grasped Carl's thigh, lifting one of his legs and hooking it around his waist as he aligned their hips.

Carl inhaled sharply.

_Oh._ That was a new move.

Patrick noticed the change and broke away to stare at him worriedly.

"I'm sorry, am I taking things too far?" He asked. Carl shook his head, breathing heavily.

"You're fine, I promise." Before the two could even do anything else a third voice sounded suddenly.

"I dunno, I think it's a bit far."

Rick.

Patrick yelped, scrambling away from Carl as if burned, cheeks absolutely aflame. They hadn't even done anything, and weren't planning on doing much more, but Patrick still felt the need to stay on Rick's good side as much as possible.

"Dad! When did you get here?" Carl stuttered, sitting up.

"Just now." Rick replied, his expression thoroughly scandalized, but not mad. And not in the homophobic way, he was very excepting of their relationship. In the "I just walked in on my son and his boyfriend making out in bed with my son's legs wrapped around his boyfriend's waist" kind of way. Surely an image he hadn't wished to be bestowed with.

"Patrick, you should probably head to your cell, we have lots of things to do tomorrow." Rick said, breaking the small awkward silence that had enveloped the room.

"Right." He squeaked in reply, pausing to kiss Carl goodnight before he scurried from the bed.

"Nice seeing you sir."

After exiting he heard Rick mention something about "The Talk", followed by Carl's aghast groaning, and he couldn't help but cackle as he made his way down the hall merrily.

* * *

I bet Patrick is just a big bumbling pile of nerves around Rick haha. (Also around Carl sometimes too)

Also sorry if there's any spelling errors and the like, and I hope this chapter isn't as rushed as I was when writing it. We have snow coming in and I wanted to get this chapter done and published in case the power were to go out.

I hope you guys are having a good December, stay warm, be careful on the roads!


End file.
